


Fateful Hours

by HawkMoth



Category: Firefly
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Written April-May 2003
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkMoth/pseuds/HawkMoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mal and Zoe get in trouble while trying to arrange a job, they must rely on the Shepherd's guidance to see them through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Day, Another Job?

**Author's Note:**

> Skipping over a few stories to post this one, a personal favorite.
> 
>  
> 
> Inspired by a certain photo and a certain question, related to another part of the Jossverse. My 10th Firefly story, one of the few "action" stories, and one of the longest.

******

The plan was simple. Get in, make contact, do a little business, get out. Four, maybe five hours of kissing the dirt, tops.

Of course, it went all to hell while they were still just sniffing the air.

******

Niobe was supposed to a peaceable little world. Good place for a meet, and maybe pick up a few more new customers. Minimal Alliance influence. Fairly well settled, with varied enough opportunities for resupplying the ship. There was even a small Guild House in the port town, to which Inara took herself scarcely ten minutes after they'd set down in the late morning, declaring that even a half-day holiday off the ship and in truly civilized company would be a blessed relief.

She wasn't looking at anyone in particular when she said it, but everyone else knew she was talking strictly to the captain, and not at all about any of them--not even Jayne.

Mal watched her go, with a familiar discomfort stirring inside him. They both knew damn well what he'd been up to for weeks, keeping Serenity so far off the radar that they might as well have turned invisible. It had been a while since either of them had come right out and talked about it straight. Lately it had been all averted eyes, few words and a lot of tension.

The only thing Mal could take bitter comfort in was the fact that she had stopped making threats about leaving. Didn't mean she wasn't still thinking about it, though, and after a visit to her own kind, she just might come to a decision.

He didn't want to think about it. They'd come here to close a deal, and he didn't need no distracting thoughts. Just the idea of her going had been distracting enough of late.

Simon opted to remain on board with River, who'd picked up a bug of some sort on their recent stopover at Artemis Station, and was still feeling poorly. Kaylee offered to stay behind and keep them company, so Wash and Jayne were stuck with the resupplying duties. Mal took Zoe with him to the rendezvous point, which was a cafe near the town center. Book elected to walk part of the way with them, and pay a visit to the local clergy.

It was a nice day to be in the world--the sun shone warmly, and a soft breeze was stirring the clean, fresh air just enough. As much as the sky was their true home, Mal could appreciate the fineness of a day such as this. From the way Zoe was looking around at the easygoing folk doing business, and how her usual well-measured gait had loosened up a bit, he knew she was feeling the joy of it too.

The streets were paved and clean. Most folks were walking. There were a few mech-wagons and better-model mules about, but not much air traffic overhead. It was all very sedate, compared to the raucous bustle of a place like Persephone.

Book was smiling at the people passing by, likewise appreciating the pleasantness all around them. They came to a broad intersection, and he paused, lifting a hand in farewell. A church and some adjoining buildings were visible just down the block.

"See you back at the ship," the Shepherd said, turning that way.

"We head back to the sky 'round about three," Mal reminded him as they parted.

He and Zoe continued on to the meet. "How will we know our contact, sir?" she asked as they approached what appeared to be the town square, which was a small park very much like an old village green. The street they were on, and two others, converged on it. They started across, scouting around for the cafe.

"We look for the fella who's looking for us," Mal said, pointing as he located it a few doors down a quiet street to the right. "I did some checking--he's a reputable businessman, wanting to expand his trade off-world. He's got a buyer on Pacquin, and heard we knew the routes better'n anybody."

Zoe looked at him sideways. "Who from, I wonder?"

Mal shrugged. "Word gets around. Way the fella talked, though, I suspect it mighta been from our friend Harrow back on Persephone, maybe lookin' to do us a good turn."

"Uh-huh." Her tone was mildly skeptical. "Let's hope so."

There weren't many people patronizing the small, tidy cafe at this hour, so it was easy to get a table near the window and not too far from the door. It was always better that way, just in case things didn't go smooth. They ordered coffee from a harried-looking server, and waited.

No one else present took any particular interest in them, so as Mal drank his coffee he kept an eye on the door for their guy, glancing out the window into the street every now and then. After a while, he noticed something seemed to be developing up the way in the square. People were gathering around a small raised dais draped with colorful bunting, which looked as if it had been hastily constructed.

"Huh. Wonder what that's all about."

Zoe followed his gaze. Other people seemed bent on detouring around the area as they sent anxious glances at the growing crowd. Suddenly she sat up straight and tilted her head purposefully at her captain. "Sir..." She flicked one finger at a tallish building directly across the road.

Half a dozen men were standing there, wearing the unmistakable dark khaki of authority. Two had their eyes on the folks who were leaving the vicinity, while the others were directing their full attention to the crowd in the park.

" _Tzao gao_ ," Mal swore. What the hell had they wandered into? Trying to appear unperturbed, he stood up and walked casually to the counter, where he dropped a coin and picked up a news sheet. He glanced at the top story feed, then walked back to the table and handed it wordlessly to Zoe as he sat back down.

"'Magistrate's Son Wins Bid to Appear on Election Ballot,' " she read the headline softly. "'Despite the concerns of party officials, a support rally is scheduled for noon today...' " Dropping the sheet, she pulled out her pocket watch, then gave Mal a baleful look.

"Yeah," he sighed. "We're really gonna have to work on our timing." 

More lawmen had appeared in the street, and were mingling officiously with the gathered citizens. "This can't be good," Zoe agreed. "When was our appointment supposed to take place?"

"Any time now," he said, looking around the cafe worriedly. They were the only people left in it. 

The server, watching them from across the room, cleared her throat nervously. "You folks about done?"

Mal hardly had a chance to nod before she came hurrying over with the check. He gave her a bland, polite smile. "Is there something important going on in town today?"

She eyed them both warily. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Zoe was sorting out the bill. "No," Mal answered, maintaining an innocent tone. "Just passing through. We were hoping to meet an acquaintance here, but he might have been delayed..." He trailed off, hoping his supposed concern would prompt some sympathy and information.

The woman took the money from Zoe, glanced out the window, then nodded at the news sheet on the table. She spoke in a rush. "Magistrate's boy has been a rebel all his life. Now he's got the chance to take his daddy on for real. Some folks are for it, some aren't. It's been the cause of a lot of contention lately. Your friend may have just decided it was a good day to be elsewhere," she finished, with a significant look toward the door.

"Thank you," Mal said somberly, as they took the hint and got to their feet. They were barely out the door before it was slammed shut and locked tight behind them.

Keeping her gaze averted from the two lawmen still on alert across the street, Zoe tugged nonchalantly at her coat, using the innocuous gesture to check her gun. "What now, sir?" she asked quietly. "Give the job up as a lost cause?"

He nodded, smiling faintly as he went through the same casual motions, discreetly patting his own weapon. "They do seem to be one of our specialties," he said. "Might be we could make contact once this situation blows over, but I'm thinking it's best we just head for the ship and sit tight--wait for Preacher and Inara to be done what they're doing, then take off. No job's worth getting tangled up in political complications."

"That's for damn sure."

Mal looked up and down the street, trying to get his bearings. They'd followed the contact's directions to this spot, but maybe there was another way to get back to the port which wouldn't require crossing the square. The crowd there had gotten considerably larger, and folks seemed to getting restless as the minutes ticked on past noon and nothing was happening. 

Except for the arrival of several dark-suited, hard-faced individuals who impassively took up positions all around the dais, as the people standing closest quickly stepped back out of their way. The apparent leader, a lean, sharp-eyed woman, gave a disdainful nod to the tallest of the lawmen, a burly, bearded man who was probably the ranking officer.

"Private security," Zoe commented.

"Or hired guns tricked out as such," said Mal, not liking the looks of them one bit. "C'mon, we better move."

He didn't want to take a chance on getting lost and losing time, so he crossed the street boldly, Zoe following with a look of exasperation as he approached the nearby lawmen.

"Excuse me, officers," he said pleasantly. "Could you direct us to the quickest way to the port?"

The two men looked them up and down. "Got business there?" one of them asked brusquely.

"No, not as such," he said. "Just passing through. Our ship's on a quick stopover, and the missus here--" he bestowed a fond smile on Zoe, who managed not to roll her eyes at him--"wanted to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. But it's time for us to head back and I think we may have gotten turned around a mite in our meanderings."

It must have sounded believable, for the second officer favored Zoe with an appreciative smirk as he said, "You just go that way, folks, and you'll be there in no time at all." And he pointed right straight across the town square.

"Oh." Mal scratched his head. "I could've sworn it was back that way," he said, nodding in the opposite direction. "Isn't that what you thought, honey?" 

"No, dear," Zoe said with a tight smile. "We weren't sure, which is why I told you to ask."

"That way don't go anywhere near the port," the first lawman cut in impatiently. "You just head on back that way, folks, and don't mind the crowd. Looks to be breaking up anyway."

It did at that. There was no sign of any official personages, and people were starting to drift away two or three at a time.

Zoe quickly latched on to Mal's arm. "Thank you, officers," she called over her shoulder as she firmly led him away.

"What?" he said as they hurried along. "That went down smooth enough."

"And it would be nice if it stayed that way, sir."

People were still slowly dispersing. A core group, a few dozen strong, lingered determinedly around the dais, talking in low tones among themselves. At least seven of the local lawmen were maintaining stern surveillance while the paid-enforcer types also stood their ground, watching everybody. It was a very quiet, if somewhat tense tableau.

Mal and Zoe retraced their path cautiously, edging around the loiterers, mindful of the varied authority figures still present. When they were almost across the square, Mal glanced over his shoulder. "I wonder what happened to our guy," he mused. "We could mosey back and--"

"If he wants to do business that badly, Captain," Zoe cut him off, "then he can just contact us at the port." She was radiating a definite uneasieness, darting surreptitious glances in all directions. "Let's keep moving. Something about this situation bothers me."

He wasn't liking it much, either, but now with more of a disappointment that they may have lost out on a lucrative deal. Yet he wasn't going to dismiss his first mate's concerns too lightly. "Fine. Maybe we ought to collect the Shepherd on our way, and try to contact Inara--get all our chicks safely back in the nest."

"Excellent idea, sir."

They waited as two slow-moving ground cars drove by and pulled up beside the park. Three men who could have been clones of the security types already on duty emerged from the first and closed in rapidly on the second. A young man, about Simon's age to Mal's eyes, stepped out and looked around avidly as the guards moved in to escort him. Some folks on the edge of the remaining crowd took not pointing and cheering. He waved enthusiastically in return.

"Must be the boy of the hour," Mal said to Zoe as they continued on their way. They had to step aside for several latecomers hurrying up the street to join the rally. In their overeager haste, one of them collided with Mal, jostling him roughly.

He stumbled hard against Zoe, who swore under her breath, and caught the fellow by the arm. "Hey, now--"

The protest died on his lips when the man impatiently shook him off, and Mal caught a glimpse of his face. He knew in a heartbeat he was looking at a killer. As the man hurried away, reaching into a pocket, Mal heard an ominous clicking sound.

Adrenaline-charged reflexes kicked in as he recovered his balance. With one hand he reached out to steady Zoe, while drawing his gun with the other. "Down--get down!" he shouted to anybody who could hear him.

The guards around the young politician did. One pushed his charge to the ground and hovered over him protectively as the other two spun around in Mal's general direction, guns out in an instant. Their attention was drawn back to the crowd, where some were reacting with panic, the cheers turning to screams as people began to scatter. The confusion spread into the rest of the crowd like wild fire.

Mal was ready to get a shot off, but the would-be assailants had taken swift advantage of the tumult to split up. As he tried to get a bead on the one who had nearly knocked him down, the man threw something right in between the parked vehicles and the first wave of the fleeing crowd.

It hit the ground with a sizzling crack and spewed out a cloud of acrid smoke that spread rapidly through the area. More people began screaming and running, adding to the turmoil. There were lawmen charging blindly everywhere, weapons raised, shouting frantic directions.

The other hired guns appeared, surrounding the vehicles, guns ready as they searched for a target.

"Cap'n..." Zoe was at Mal's shoulder, her weapon drawn, pulling him out of the way as people tried to escape past them. "Mal," she said urgently. "This ain't our business."

His attention was still on the chaos in the square. "Can't see where the bastard went..."

The smoke was drifting their way, and then they heard a burst of gunfire in the distance.

Zoe yanked her captain around and got right in his face. "It ain't our fight, either. We have to get out of here."

Mal nodded, having finally recognized the futility of his instinctive actions. "Sounds like a--"

There were more shots, much closer, and the unmistakable whine of a laser weapon. The first parked car careened sideways into the street, its front end blown spectacularly apart. Half of the guards were knocked flat by the blast, while the rest struggled to remain upright, looking for a way to fall back to safety.

The shock wave caught Mal and Zoe as they dove for the ground. It sent them tumbling wildly and Mal's head struck the pavement hard enough to stun him for a moment. He pushed himself up unsteadily, fighting the dizziness, and reached for Zoe, who was on her knees cradling one arm against her chest. 

"Go, go!" he urged, dragging her upright, both of them weaving slightly as they started to move.

"Drop your weapons!" a voice rang out over the clamor and confusion. Two of the guards and a local officer were plowing through the remnants of the fleeing crowd, straight for them.

They kept moving.

"There--that's the one!" another voice cried out. "The browncoat did it!"

" _Tamade!_ " Mal spared a look around and saw the man who had thrown the smoke bomb pointing right at him.

"Bastard!" Zoe hissed as they picked up speed, ducking and dodging past the frightened people still in retreat or huddled anxiously against buildings.

The guards were in hot pursuit, and more of the local law had joined them. "Drop your weapons and stand down!" the one in the lead shouted.

Bullets kicked into the ground just behind them when they ignored the command. They reached a corner, and slowed only a fraction as they considered their options. Mal was fighting for breath to give Zoe the word that they should split up when he felt a stinging jolt below his right knee, and a flash of pain seared through his whole leg.

"Captain!" Zoe grabbed him with her good arm as he stumbled, dragging him awkwardly down the narrow street on their left. It was deserted--no one else had fled this way. They found the mouth of an alley and ducked into its shadows.

Not a bullet, Mal realized thickly as Zoe hauled him into the limited protection of a recessed doorway. A laser burn always took you worse. Even without hitting anything vital, it would curdle through your body and shut you down quick--and the knock his head had taken was making it happen faster.

He fell heavily against Zoe, sweating and shaking. "Gotta--gotta keep moving," he panted as his vision blurred. 

"Yes, sir," she agreed, her firm grip on him a comfort, though her eyes were dark with concern and her own pain. "Soon as I figure out where we can move to..."

Her worried gaze suddenly left him. Through the haze of shock, Mal felt strong hands grab him from behind, and the last thing he heard before passing out was Zoe's gasp of surprise.

******


	2. A Little Personal Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunted by the law, our heroes wind up in an unlikely place of refuge.

******

 

Voices came at him from an echoing distance.

"Careful."

"Lay him down right there."

Seemed like he'd been in this situation before. Fuzzy-headed, hurting--the far-off voices slowly getting closer, the words clearer...waking up in the infirmary, after the salvagers had shot him....

No, that was past. This was now. This was different. Even with his eyes shut and his brain half locked down, Mal knew he wasn't on Serenity. 

"I'll check the street, but I don't think you were seen."

"Zoe, are you all right, child?"

Two of the voices he knew. Two he didn't. Where was he?

"I'm fine, Preacher, it's just a bad bruising. We need to be looking after the captain."

"I'll fetch our med-kit."

Zoe--Zoe was hurt? It was his job to look after her. He tried to open his eyes--he had to see if she was all right, if they were safe.

"Careful, he's coming to." That was Book, concerned but calm as ever.

He felt hands on his leg, trying to be gentle, but they provoked a sharp wave of pain which jolted him into full awareness. His eyes flew open and he saw Zoe at his side, one hand on his shoulder. The Shepherd stood just behind her, smiling down in reassurance. 

Someone else was tending to his injury. " _Tamade diyu!_ " He tried to jerk his leg away, which only made it hurt worse.

"Oh! Please, hold him still," came a woman's shocked, worried voice.

"Captain..." Zoe sounded relieved and exasperated all at once as she squeezed his arm. "Just take it easy, sir."

Mal grasped her hand weakly. "Zoe--we gotta keep moving, they'll be after us..." He struggled to push himself up, but she held him firmly in place.

"Steady, Captain." Book leaned over him, shaking his head. "You're safe for the moment, but you won't be going anywhere for a while. Now just lie still."

He realized he was lying on a wide, high-backed sofa in what looked to be somebody's parlor. A plainly dressed middle-aged woman with a kind face was working on his leg, carefully cleaning and dressing the laser burn. She looked up when she felt his gaze on her, and smiled at him soothingly. "You listen to the Shepherd, young man. You'll be feeling better in a spell."

They didn't have a spell. Mal bit back another curse and focused on Zoe again. "We gotta get back to the ship--make sure the others are okay." He had no idea how long he'd been out, and now his head was starting to throb, making it even harder to be thinking clearly. "Zoe..." he pleaded urgently, needing her to do the thinking for him. He belatedly recognized the discomfort on her face, remembering with a start that she'd been hurt too. "You okay?"

She nodded, flexing her arm slightly to reassure him. "I'm good, Cap'n."

He knew she probably was, but he was no less worried. "Preacher--the two of you have to get back to Serenity," he implored, hoping Zoe wouldn't mind the indirect order.

"Not a good idea, Captain," Book said decisively. "If they're on the lookout for a man and a woman, we'd fall under immediate suspicion."

Mal rubbed fretfully at his aching head. "Then you just wave that magical little ident card of yours at 'em," he insisted. "No worries."

"Play that trick too often," he replied, frowning, "and I won't be able to use it when we really need it. Besides, the way the law works on this world, credentials like that won't impress anyone. We'll have to rely on other sources for help."

The woman finished tending to Mal's leg and gathered up her medical supplies. "I'm sure Pastor Devlin will be able to come up with something, Shepherd," she agreed as she stood up. 

"I believe I have." A portly man about Book's age, dressed in clerical black, entered the room briskly, rubbing his hands together. "The search parties are still two streets over," he said to Book. "We have a little time to put a plan in action."

"Hold on a gorram minute--" Mal started to protest, but he shut up when the woman made an aggrieved "tsking" sound, and the Shepherd gave him a stern look.

"Mrs. Mallory," the pastor went on, ignoring Mal, "they're expecting a visit down at the free clinic, and I'm sure that as a new parishioner, this young lady--" he smiled paternally at Zoe--"would be happy to accompany you and help carry our donations."

The woman nodded and beckoned. "Yes, come along, dear, and I'll get you all fixed up."

Zoe got to her feet warily, lips set in a tight line as she glanced enquiringly at her captain. He stared back at her, frowning, not sure if this was the right thing to do.

"Go on, child," Book prompted, patting her on the shoulder. "It'll be all right. I'm staying here."

"The clinic is down by the docks," Devlin said mildly, noting Mal's doubtful expression.

That clinched it. "Go," Mal told her firmly. Her safety--the ship's safety--came before his.

She nodded, and followed Mrs. Mallory out of the room. "You watch him like a hawk, Preacher," she said over her shoulder. "He gets into trouble without even trying."

Mal swore under his breath as Book chuckled knowingly. Whatever Mrs. Mallory had used to doctor his leg must have been potent, for the pain was finally receding to a tolerable level, and his head felt a lot less fuzzy. He tried sitting up again, and this time Book helped him, making sure he kept his injured leg elevated and immobile. 

"You sure they'll get through okay?" Mal asked, resting against the arm of the sofa. It made him uneasy, relying on strangers, even if Book seemed to be entirely trusting of them.

"They may get stopped once or twice, if the search parameters have been extended that far," Devlin answered. "But we bring donations--food, clothing, medical supplies--to the clinic on a regular basis. It will be excellent cover for your friend."

Mal blinked at the explanation, then turned to Book. "You and him go to the same funny seminary where they seem to teach a whole lot more than just preaching?" he asked.

Book smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say we've shared a certain--type of experience."

"Uh-huh." Someday he was gonna have a long chat with the man about such things.

Zoe and Mrs. Mallory returned, each carrying a large covered basket. Zoe's distinctive duster had been replaced by a plain, padded jacket, and her hair was pulled back demurely with a wide band. Her gun belt was missing, and she didn't look too happy about it. Mal suspected there had been words exchanged while they were out of the room. 

But Zoe was resolute, standing tall as she faced him for final orders. "Captain?"

"You get back to the ship," he said, keeping any taint of "if" out of his voice, "and see to the others. Make sure Wash and Jayne get back okay. And try to contact Inara, make sure she's--that she knows what's going down...." He trailed off, glancing with consternation from Book to the pastor. "We got any idea what's really going on out there?"

"It's hard to say," Devlin replied, his round face furrowed in thought. "From the little I heard, I can't tell if they're treating the incident simply as an attempt to disrupt the rally, or something far worse. Either way, the search is liable to intensify as the investigation continues. So I suggest the ladies get moving."

"I'll try to send a message once we've reached the port," Mrs. Mallory promised, as she tucked her arm through Zoe's and led her away. Zoe directed one last stoical look at Mal before she was hustled out the door.

He glanced at the pastor with a raised eyebrow. "That's one take-charge kind of lady."

"A fine widow-woman, and my sexton," the man replied proudly. "A wonder of organizational skills. Now then..." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, leveling an intent gaze at his remaining guest. "Let's see what we can do about you, young man." He hurried out a door in the back of the parlor.

Mal shifted about, feeling all twitchy. He wanted to get his feet on the floor to see how much his injured leg could take. There was no way of telling how long they'd be stuck here, and he was not much liking the idea of being beholden to the church for any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

Book noticed his restlessness and raised a warning finger. "Don't push yourself just yet, Captain. Staying put is our best course of action for now."

"No, best would be getting ourselves back to Serenity soon as possible," Mal countered. He flexed his leg, clenching his jaw against the resulting pain. He tried again, desperate to build some strength back up. "You wanna tell me just how the hell you stumbled across us in our hour of need, Preacher?"

Book crossed his arms, regarding him with strained patience. "The pastor and I were sitting on the porch when we heard the commotion," he explained. "I knew you and Zoe had gone in that direction, so I thought it wise to see if you'd been caught up in any trouble. It was providential that I found you before anyone else did."

"Yeah, whatever," Mal snorted. "But thanks," he added quickly with half a smile. Gritting his teeth, he slowly swung both legs off the sofa and sat full upright. "And as kindly and well-meaning as your friends may perhaps be--" he stopped, breathing deeply as his head swam. "We--can't be staying here forever...." His coat and gun belt were slung over the back of the chair Zoe had been sitting in. He reached for them unsteadily, as another wave of dizziness assaulted him.

If Book hadn't leapt forward to catch him, he would have hit the floor face first. "Just how far do you think you'll get in this condition, even with me to help you?" the Shepherd chastised him severely. "And I have no burning desire to answer to Zoe if I let anything happen to you."

Brushing him off, Mal collapsed back onto the sofa, scowling. "Fine," he gave in wearily. "I hope to hell you got a story ready and a place to stash me when the law comes calling."

Devlin came at a breathless run through the door in time to hear him. "That will be any minute now," he warned. "They're three doors down." He was carrying a bundle of clothing which he thrust quickly into Book's hands. "Hurry," he urged, racing out again. "I'll keep watch."

"What the hell's going on?" Mal asked.

"We're going to hide you in plain sight," Book answered, gazing at him expectantly as he laid the clothing out on the chair. 

Mal stared at the dark shirt and pants, and the stiff white collar. "No," he snarled, breaking out in a cold sweat as his stomach twisted. "No rutting way!"

They heard sirens begin to wail in the distance, and the muted roar of an approaching hovercraft.

Book stood over him, unmoved, with a grim little smile. "I'm afraid you have no choice, son."

***

If he could have reached his gun, there would have been a choice, all right. But the Shepherd must have read his mind, deftly snatching up the gun belt and coat before offering to help him change.

He had seemed completely unimpressed by the string of curses which made up Mal's response, simply saying, "That's right--best to get it out of your system now. Wouldn't be fitting to talk that way in front of the law." 

Mal had shucked out of his clothes as quick as he could despite the sharp jab of pain each movement provoked. Book stood by, only helping him with his boots, then had bundled them up with Mal's shirt, the singed, torn pants, his coat and gun belt and taken them off somewhere, presumably to be hidden away with Zoe's things.

It had all been only a matter of minutes, but it seemed like hours to Mal--long torturous hours--by the time he'd finished struggling into the oppressive black clothes. They fit him well enough, but that did nothing to make wearing them any less unsettling.

Sweating again, and shaking slightly, he dropped back down heavily on the sofa, resisting the urge to grab his leg where the pain throbbed its strongest. His hands were already occupied, turning the white collar round and round as he stared unseeing at the hard wood floor. He wished they'd never landed on this _yuchun_ world.

Book returned, carrying a pair of dark shoes. "Don't know how good a fit these will be," he said, dropping them beside the chair. "You have to get a move on, Captain," he added, placing his hand solicitously on Mal's shoulder. "They'll be here any second."

Mal lifted his head and glared at him. "I don't like this one gorram bit, Shepherd."

"It's not for you to like or not, son. It's the way it has to be."

"I can let it happen and still not like it," Mal said stubbornly. Then he let out a bitter sigh, and held the collar up, submitting resentfully to the inevitable. "Here--I can't--"

"Let me," Book said, gently taking it from him.

Mal sat stiffly, bowing his head as needed while Book worked the collar through the neck of the shirt. The fabric scratched against his skin as it tightened, the unwelcome pressure closing in...

_...like a chain around his neck, the familiar weight of the silver cross a comfort as he left Shadow behind and went off to war--went into battle with his fears contained behind walls of faith, the cross and chain with him always..._

...tight and unyielding. Mal swallowed hard against the band of constriction around his throat as Book finished the task and stepped away from him.

Pastor Devlin appeared in the doorway and signaled wordlessly. Book pushed the chair back, gesturing for Mal to take it, as he sat down calmly on the sofa, the very image of churchly propriety. 

Mal eased into the chair awkwardly, slipping the shoes on as he did. Then he straightened his back, and tried to school his expression into the proper sort of humbleness. "Now," he said mirthlessly, "for the easy part."

"You just follow my lead," Book said sternly out of the side of his mouth, "and don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Book's expression plainly said he could well imagine otherwise.

****** 

The wail of the sirens grew ominously closer, then faded off in a different direction as there was a loud knock at the front door. They heard Devlin answer the summons, and a moment later he ushered three lawmen into the parlor. Two of them fell back into position on either side of the doorway, holding stun rifles barrel-up at the ready.

A furtive glance told Mal that they weren't the ones he had talked to in the street outside the cafe. But the one in the lead--

"Sorry to intrude when you've got guests, Pastor," he said, not sounding all that apologetic, "but this is a bad business."

Mal recognized him as the tall bearded officer he and Zoe had seen in the park before all hell had broken loose. He was pretty sure they hadn't gotten close enough for the man to recollect his face, but couldn't remember clearly enough if he'd been one of the group who'd chased after them. Some of what had happened was still a blur in his mind, and it was unsettling. He concentrated on keeping his outward appearance composed.

"Not at all, Sheriff Owens," Devlin answered readily. "We heard the commotion--I take it there was some trouble at the rally?"

"Way too much of it," he replied, letting his gaze fall appraisingly on the two visitors. "Someone didn't want young Langston to attend, and spooked a whole lot of innocent citizens in the process."

"Oh, my," Book interjected with pious alarm and sincerity. "Was anyone hurt?"

The sheriff turned to him, one hand resting with confident ease on the butt of his holstered weapon. "There were a few casualties," he said tightly. 

"Could we be of any help?" Mal piped up, aiming for the same concerned tone. "Bring some comfort to the injured?"

"The only comfort those folks need is for us to be apprehending the ones that caused them harm," Owens declared with some heat, regarding him shrewdly. 

Mal dredged up a nervous, placid smile, keenly aware that Book was not pleased with him either.

The lawman relaxed slightly. "Your offer is a kindly one," he allowed, "but we'll take care of our own."

"Brother Joshua meant no offense," Book said quickly, with a veiled look at Mal. "It's our charitable duty to offer aid to those in need."

It was all Mal could do to keep his hand from straying up to where the collar had suddenly become even more chafing.

"And it's my duty to keep the peace in this town," Owens replied, "which includes keeping off-worlders uninvolved unless absolutely necessary." Turning his back dismissively on them both, he addressed Pastor Devlin. "Are your guests just passing through?"

Mal glanced sideways at Book, who raised one hand in a small gesture of patience.

Devlin seemed unfazed by the sheriff's attitude. "Shepherd Book and Brother Joshua are on their way to Covington Abbey on Greenleaf," he said, and Mal was impressed by how smoothly the churchman told a lie. "The Shepherd and I are old friends, and so they came by for a visit while their ship is on a brief stopover here."

"I see. And they were both here with you when the attack on the rally took place?"

"Yes."

"Did you see any strangers around, or anyone acting in a suspicious manner, at all today?"

Mal felt lightheaded again, and realized he was holding his breath as Devlin continued to lie on their behalf.

"No, nothing out of the ordinary."

The sheriff nodded slowly, weighing the pastor's answers. He glanced at his deputies, then back at Book and Mal, his face betraying nothing. "Not feeling too well, Brother Joshua?" he asked abruptly. "You look somewhat peaked."

The sudden question caught Mal by surprise. "I--what?" He felt a rush of chagrin heat up his face.

"It's his first time on an extended space flight," Book spoke up hastily. "It's been hard for him to adjust, hasn't it, Brother?"

Mal bowed his head, cursing inwardly. "Yes, Shepherd," he replied meekly. "I'll be glad once we get to Greenleaf."

Owens considered him a moment longer, then turned back to Devlin. "I'd like to speak to Mrs. Mallory, Pastor."

"She was with us earlier, Sheriff, but it's visiting day--she took donations down to the free clinic." He clutched his hands together nervously. "I wish now I hadn't let her go--I hope she doesn't run into any trouble along the way."

Owens shrugged impassively. "My boys know her well enough--I'm sure she'll be all right, though I wouldn't expect her back too soon. Things will get a mite restrictive if we don't find who we're looking for." He strode back to the doorway where his deputies waited, then turned and announced, "I'm going to have to ask you gentleman to all remain on church grounds until further notice. And I'll be leaving Constable Harris here on guard, Pastor. It's for you own protection, and I can't be letting any fugitives try to seek sanctuary with you."

Devlin paled, looking outraged. "Sheriff, I must protest--"

"You can take it up with Magistrate Langston when all this is over, Pastor," he suggested with another shrug and a grim smile. "I have my orders."

Ignoring the angry pulse of blood in his ears, Mal shot a glance at Book, who was already on his feet, hurrying defensively to his friend's side. "Sheriff--our ship's scheduled to lift off shortly," he objected with just enough anxiousness.

Owens shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about that, Shepherd," he said. "All ships in the port have most likely been placed under land-lock by now. But we'll try to keep you apprized when that situation changes." He gave them all an officious nod. "Good day, gentleman." He walked out, the one deputy following. 

Constable Harris shifted his gun and bowed his head respectfully. "I'll be patrolling the grounds, Pastor. You holler if you need me."

He went out. Devlin stood with his hands clenched at his sides, while Book gave him a grateful tap on the back. "It could have gone worse," he noted softly.

Mal levered himself up with care, holding on to the chair back, not quite ready to trust his leg. "And what the hell happens if he decides to check out that story of yours, Pastor?" he asked vehemently. "What if Mrs. Mallory can't get word back to us about Zoe?"

Book turned on him, eyes blazing. "Any message the sheriff sends to Covington Abbey will be dealt with expediently. And just be grateful, son, that he didn't ask the name of the ship we supposedly have passage on."

His knuckles were turning white where they gripped the chair. "That name you saddled me with," he said incredulously. "It's some kinda code!"

Devlin, folded his hands together and smiled at him with serene bemusement. "It means 'The Lord is salvation,' and our brothers at Covington will help provide it if necessary. For now, Captain Reynolds, I counsel patience."

If Book hadn't given him such a look of sorry expectation, Mal would have told the pastor exactly what he could do with his advice. "You're both gorram crazy," he muttered, sinking back down on the chair, trying to ignore the way his leg was throbbing. He looked at the pastor wearily. "You two got a past--but why are you helping me and the rest of mine, when it could get you into all kinds of trouble?"

Devlin's round, pleasant face registered dismay at the question. "Because," he answered unequivocally, "it's the right thing to do."

******


	3. Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanctuary does not equal serenity for Mal. The long hours weigh heavily on him, as Book's patience wears a bit thin as well.

******

The right thing included giving his guests a chance to freshen up, and serving them a light but nourishing meal of soup and bread. Mal got his first good look at the general layout of their sanctuary when they sat down to table on the porch which wrapped its way around the front and one side of the rectory. Steps led down from the rear into a large walled garden.

When Book and Devlin bent their heads to say grace, Mal sat stiff and unyielding until he saw Constable Harris eyeing them as he walked by. He had no choice but to emulate the two genuine clergymen, folding his hands and bowing his head in the same prayerful attitude.

"'Trust in the Lord with all your heart,' " Book intoned somberly, "'and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths.' "

"Amen," said Devlin.

Mal carefully watched Harris disappear around the back of the house. "Sure as hell would like to direct my path off this world," he muttered before realizing how ungrateful that sounded. "No offense, Pastor," he said quickly, avoiding Book's rebuking stare. "I do thank you for your help and hospitality." 

"You're welcome, son," Devlin answered with a solemn nod.

They ate in silence, and Mal started feeling a whole lot better with some food inside him, though it didn't do much to relieve the fretfulness that had plagued him since he'd woken up. He knew Zoe and the others were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves without him, but being unable to do anything for them was making him tetchy and miserable.

He dropped his spoon and nearly bolted out of his chair when they heard a comm signal buzzing from inside the house. Devlin hurried to answer it, while Mal and Book waited anxiously.

"That was Mrs. Mallory," he reported on his return, patting Mal on the back encouragingly before he sat down again. "She's being detained at the clinic. They've really cracked down on letting people out in the streets without good reason. But she saw Zoe safely to your ship, Captain,"

Book smiled while Mal let out a huge sigh of relief. "And the rest of my crew?"

"Zoe was able to let Mrs. Mallory know that everyone was on board, except for...Miss Serra, I believe she said."

"Don't worry, Mal," Book said softly, seeing his look of consternation. "I'm sure Inara is perfectly safe at the Guild House."

"Yeah," Mal agreed, wiping a shaky hand across his brow. As long as they all stayed put and just waited this mess out--Zoe would do what was best, keep 'em from getting any foolish ideas. Not that patience was his crew's strong suit, either. He truly had to wonder if they got that from him. "We can send a wave back to Zoe, have her contact Inara if she ain't already done so--"

Devlin was shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, son. Mrs. Mallory was only able to get through--and very briefly at that--thanks to our friends at the clinic. All other lines of communication have been restricted until further notice. Only the official channels are being kept open."

" _Qu tamade!_ " Mal slammed a fist against the table. That was the last thing he needed to hear.

" _Zhuzui,_ " Book shot at him. "We might have expected as much."

Pastor Devlin started to clear the table. "I am truly sorry," he said as he stood up. "I know it's hard to be out of touch with your people, and there's no telling how long we'll have to wait for other news." 

He came around the table and stopped by Mal's side. "Therefore, as Jacob labored for Rachel, I'll set the two of you to work to earn your keep. It should help pass the time more quickly. And we need to get you strengthened up, young man," he said with a kind smile. "I suspect you'd prefer being useful out in the garden, rather than stuck with the dishes."

So within minutes, Mal found himself seated on a stone bench at the back of the house, under the overhanging porch roof, shelling peas. He may have been presenting a very industrious picture to the constable making his rounds, but he surely wasn't feeling any kind of useful. The task was just as excruciatingly dull as it had been in his childhood--peel and shuck, peel and shuck...

_The peas belong in the bowl, Malcolm, not in the dirt._

_There'll be plenty of time for riding when you've finished with that, son._

With a start he came back to himself, guiltily checking the ground by his feet for any wayward peas. He smiled ruefully at his own foolishness. Lily and Momma had always known when his full attention hadn't been on his kitchen chores, that he'd rather have been out on the prairie seeing to the cattle and horses.

Something about the tranquillity of the garden had taken him back--the pleasure of being surrounded by green, growing things, the security of the stone walls, the warm sun and fresh air...but the memories were costly ones. He'd chosen a life out in the black--he wasn't meant to live joyfully in the world ever again. As often as he craved a little peace in the rough-and-tumble life they lived on Serenity, he knew he'd be a whole lot crazier if he had it all the time.

Devlin appeared at the kitchen door, and Mal got up to bring him the bowl of shelled peas. It took him a moment to coordinate his steps, and he almost stumbled just as Constable Harris came around the corner.

"Guess I don't quite have my land-legs back yet," he said with an embarrassed grin when the man gave him a sharp inquisitive look. The pastor stood by anxiously.

"Yeah," the constable replied, shrugging disinterestedly before he moved on. He had more important things to mind than inept young clerics.

Mal let out a sigh of relief and handed the bowl to Devlin without a word. The pastor brought it inside, then returned with a damp towel for Mal to clean his hands, and another task. "How are you at figures, Brother?"

So Mal resumed his seat on the bench, doing some of Mrs. Mallory's paperwork.

There were no further signs of the troubled situation out in the town--no alarms, no aircraft--except for the continued presence of Constable Harris, and the occasional sound of armed men passing by, or the sight of folks loitering nervously in front of their homes in the tiny street that paralleled the rear wall of the church property. The peacefulness of the garden endured, and Mal grew increasingly restless as the afternoon wore on.

Book and the pastor had emerged from the kitchen, and kept busy tending to a small stand of young fruit trees, and weeding the vegetables. Every so often, when the constable was out of sight, Devlin would duck back into the house to see if the communications blackout had been lifted. But each time he would return with his shoulders slumped, lips set in disappointment as he shook his head at Mal and Book in turn.

Occasionally, as the hours slowly passed, Book would call for Brother Joshua to lend him a hand at one chore or another, giving Mal the excuse to walk about and test his leg. It was okay as long as he didn't put much weight on it, but it was a strain not to favor it too noticeably and arouse any further suspicion. 

He was vexed by the fact that it still hurt, that he still having trouble walking, and blamed it on the gorram waiting and rutting uselessness of their situation. If things were different--if they had been in a real mess, out on a dangerous job, fighting for their lives or running like hell to save their skins, he'd have been working past the disabling pain and fatigue without a thought. A good gun battle would have seen him right in no time at all. 

Book moved on to tying up some grape vines to an arbor, as Mal held it steady. It had gotten warmer in the long hours since they'd left the ship, and the black shirt was sticking unpleasantly to Mal's skin. "What the hell time is it?" he muttered, bending to wipe his forehead against his shoulder. "What is wrong with the law on this rutting planet? Can't find me, and can't even track down the ones that really did it."

Devlin looked up from the nearby vegetable patch, exchanging a forbearing glance with Book. "It's well past three," he answered. "I wouldn't be surprised if the perpetrators were hired from off-world, with the assault planned well in advance, if they've managed to elude capture this long. But surely a few of the witnesses could have given some useful information."

"People in a panic tend not to see much of anything," Mal said scornfully.

The pastor lumbered to his feet. "I think we could all use a bit of rest, and a cool drink. I'll be right back." He headed for the house, with a polite nod to the lawman who had just come around the corner of the porch. "Can I get you some water, Constable?" he asked cheerfully. "It's thirsty work, I expect, marching about like that."

"No thanks, Pastor," Harris replied. "I'm good."

The constable had kept to the same unrelenting patrol pattern: around the church itself--which much to the pastor's dismay had been locked up on the sheriff's orders; up to the rectory door and across the porch; through the garden and back around the house to the church again. Each time he walked through the garden, he'd stop for a few minutes to watch them at their work, the stun rifle resting with deceptive casualness in his arms. 

Mal knew that stance, and just how quickly the weapon could be raised, aimed and fired. As the pastor went inside the house, Harris took it up again, standing on the garden path, his eyes flicking everywhere, but always coming back to them. His watchfulness, his mere presence, was a burden Mal was having a hard time tolerating.

He itched. Itched to be outta here. He was burning with the need to get back to Serenity, on fire to know if the others were safe and sound. The sweat dripping down his neck, collecting under the chafing collar, wasn't from the heat of the sun or the effort of the work. He was trapped and helpless and it was making him sick with anger and fear. Itching with the crazy notion to take a swing at that hard-eyed lawman and wrench the stun gun from him before the bastard knew what hit him....

"My word, Brother Joshua--are you all right?" Book was suddenly at his side, one hand firmly gripping his arm. Mal almost took a swing at him before some of the impotent fury boiling in his brain simmered down. The Shepherd stood between him and the constable, blocking Mal from the other's view, a look of severe warning on his face.

"I think you've had a touch too much sun, Brother," Book said calmly. "It can take you that way after a too long spell in space." He tipped a friendly nod in the constable's direction, then firmly propelled Mal toward the bench under the shade of the roof.

"Gorramit, Preacher, let go of me," Mal muttered angrily, trying to break free.

Book was having none of it. "That's enough, son," he shot back in a stern whisper. He pushed Mal down onto the bench and stood over him, shaking his head ever so slightly. "We can't blow this now," he cautioned.

Mal subsided, leaning back against the wall in reluctant submission. His head had gone all fuzzy again, and his leg ached something fierce. He realized with a cold stab of shock how close he'd come to losing it. "Son of a bitch," he murmured, dropping his head to his hands. He'd been in far worse situations and never reacted with such blind panic before, and the realization was making him feel even sicker.

"Easy now," Book said soothingly as he laid a steadying hand on Mal's shoulder.

"Everything okay over there, Shepherd?" the constable called out.

"Yes, he'll be fine. Don't let us keep you from your duties, Constable."

Slowly, Mal raised his head and watched the lawman return to his rounds, disappearing from view around the side of the rectory. " _Sishengzi,_ " he spat, just to make himself feel better.

Devlin came hurrying out of the kitchen door, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and glasses. "Please forgive me," he said anxiously. "I would have brought this out sooner, but I was trying to see if there'd been any more news released." He set the tray down on the bench beside Mal and quickly offered him a glass of water. "Slowly now, son," he warned.

Mal closed both hands gratefully around the glass and did as he was told, taking careful sips, breathing deeply in between.

"Any news at all?" Book asked, still supporting Mal with one hand.

Devlin glanced around carefully before answering. "Nothing that's much help, I'm afraid. The search is continuing, and the land-lock is still in place."

Another stab of fear lanced through Mal. "Are they searching the ships?"

"I'm sorry," he replied. "They haven't said, and the comm lines are still blocked--"

There was a sudden sharp knock at the garden gate and all three men froze. 

"Pastor! Pastor Devlin, open up please," a voice called loudly.

With a frantic glance at his guests, Devlin moved rapidly to comply. When he opened the gate, Sheriff Owens stepped through. He directed a narrow-eyed look and stiff nod at Book and Mal, then drew the pastor off for a private talk.

Mal set the glass down and leaned forward, shrugging off Book's comforting hand. But it was impossible to hear what was being discussed just outside the gate. Pastor Devlin seemed to be explaining something, while the sheriff kept throwing dubious looks back their way. As they waited for the conversation to end, possibilities ran rampant through Mal's mind 

Zoe would be ready for anything. She'd keep Jayne from doing anything stupid, and make sure Simon and River stayed safe. The local law wouldn't know enough to conduct as thorough a search as Feds would. Serenity would be all right, once the land-lock was lifted.

Inara would be all right, protected by her respectable status. But if Zoe hadn't been able to make contact, how would she know what was going on? There was no way of knowing if she could get back to the ship safely. And if he and Book got back somehow--what if they had to take off before they could reach her? How would he know if she had even planned to return to Serenity at all? But at least with the Guild she'd be safe--

It would be better that way.

Wouldn't it?

He couldn't find an answer to that question, and felt an ache inside that had nothing to do with his injuries.

"Mal--are you all right?"

He hardly heard Book's whispered inquiry. The desperate thoughts of his ship and his crew kept chasing around in circles in his brain, making that dread feeling of sick helplessness rise up in him again.

It wasn't entirely unfamiliar. He'd known it sitting in a cell on the Alliance cruiser while Harken's men trashed Serenity--felt it when Dobson had shot Kaylee and Simon had refused to help her unless they ran--lived it endlessly in the blood and filth on Hera watching what was left of his people give up hope and die, dying a little inside for each and every one of them. 

He'd known it even as a child...

 

...The water bandits were raiding every ranch for miles around. He was nearly eight years old and Jess told him to get his still-new gun and come on out to stand with the rest of them to defend what was theirs. Momma and Lily had their shotguns at the ready to back them up. Lily stopped by the door and put her hand to the plaque that had hung there for as long as young Mal could remember--the old, old prayer from Earth-That-Was, from a green, green land that Lily claimed her family came from. A prayer for times of trouble, and as Lily began to say it, Momma joined in and so did he because the words were a comfort and made you strong, even when you were scared half out of your mind...

_"In this fateful hour I place all heaven with its power,and the sun with its brightness--"_

The bandits had ridden out of the sun, hoping to confuse them, but they'd all fired straight and true and fought them off.

_"--and the snow with its whiteness, and fire with all the strength it hath, and lightning with its rapid wrath--"_

He'd used the prayer in battle time and again, but the words had failed him when all the fiery wrath of the Alliance poured out of the sky over Serenity Valley.

_"--and the winds with their swiftness along their path, and the sea with its deepness,_

_and the rocks with their steepness--"_

But words could have power if you believed, had faith that you would persevere, trusted in those you called friend but who were so much more to you.

The words sang in his mind, banishing the fear, reviving his confidence, restoring his hope.

"--and the earth with its starkness: all these I place, by God’s almighty help and grace..." 

He heard his own voice saying the words out loud with all the reverence he'd used as a child, when he still believed in them and all they stood for.

"--between myself and...the powers of darkness." He came to a faltering halt, shocked as he stared at his hands folded on his knees, disbelieving what he'd just done. They were just words...

But words had power.

The cold, sick fear inside him was fading, replaced by a resolute calmness. They'd get out of this, somehow. Zoe and the others would do just fine. He'd been put in a situation he couldn't control, that was all, and it had thrown him. Gotten hurt, and gone a little too crazy. Just for a bit. All he had to do was start thinking straight--

" _Wode tian._ "

He glanced up. Book was staring at him, his eyes full of astonishment. Then a smile of incredulous approval appeared on the Shepherd's face.

Shame flooded through Mal, hot and unwanted. He swore to himself that it wasn't the prayer that had cleared his head and taken away his anguish. He'd just dug deep past the pain and fear to recover his strength, to find the faith he had in his own courage. Maybe he'd been a little lost, but he sure as hell was found now.

Praying had nothin' to do with it.

He stood up slowly, his hands clenched tight, facing Book and meeting his gaze with steely-eyed defiance. "You got something to say, Shepherd?" he asked coldly.

Book didn't so much as blink. "I've always been rather fond of that prayer myself," he said evenly. "It does the heart and soul a world of good. And while that hard-ass attitude of yours may work with Jayne, it doesn't bother me one bit, son," he continued in the same mild tone. 

But for an instant, his eyes flashed with such menace that Mal took an involuntary step backwards, feeling his mouth go dry. Then it was gone, and the Shepherd was all kindness once more. "Now just stand easy and behave yourself," he advised. "I think the sheriff wants to have words with us."

Mal turned around warily, struggling to regain his self-control. He hadn't even noticed that Devlin was coming back into the garden, followed by Sheriff Owens. 

The pastor appeared subdued, though not terribly worried. The sheriff seemed vexed, as if he were here against his better judgement. He looked them up and down in the same typical lawman's way as he'd done earlier, hard and calculating. 

"The sheriff would like to ask you a few questions," Devlin said to Book, stepping out of the lawman's way.

Book nodded politely. "Of course."

Owens consulted the small Cortex link in his hand. "The two of you are passengers on a ship called Serenity, bound for Greenleaf?"

Mal's heart lurched at the mention of his boat, but he managed to keep his face still as he wondered what his crew had managed to pull off.

"That's right," Book answered.

"The ship's captain contacted us, apparently concerned about your safety."

"Ah, yes," Book said with a smile. "Miss Zoe--a fine, responsible lady."

"She's been very kind to us," Mal backed up the gambit, only a little surprised by the Shepherd's quick thinking. 

The sheriff's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Seems the ship's owner thinks rather highly of you as well, requesting you get an official escort back down to the docks. Serenity has clearance to lift off once you two are safely on board."

Although Book's face gave away nothing, Mal knew for certain they were both equally startled by that bit of news. Who the hell--?

And then he knew, realizing from the sheriff's expression that he was taking their stunned silence for embarrassment. Well, damn. At least this time he wasn't going to get slapped around in public. "Miss Serra is also a very kind--lady," he said, not feigning his chagrin one jot as he glanced sideways at Book. "She didn't need to make a fuss on our account." 

The sheriff's long look almost made him squirm. "The magistrate was happy to oblige," Owens explained, and it was hard to tell if he approved or not. "He likes to keep things...cordial with the Guild." 

Book let out a very convincing sigh. "We weren't aware of Miss Serra's...affiliation when we arranged our passage," he said. "It's been a very--interesting journey."

"I imagine so," Owens said with a snort. 

"Excuse me, Sheriff," Devlin interrupted, "but has the situation been resolved? Mrs. Mallory was detained at the clinic, and I'm concerned about her safe return."

"Things have quieted down for the most part, Pastor," Owens explained tersely, "and there've been some arrests. If you like, I'll have my men fetch her here once they've seen these two gentlemen to their ship."

Devlin's face creased in a huge smile. "That will be most appreciated, Sheriff. Thank you."

He nodded, then motioned impatiently toward the gate. "We'd better get moving."

That was all Mal wanted to hear, as he breathed easily for the first time in hours. 'Course, Inara having so kindly arranged an escort for them wasn't particularly shiny, though it most likely would be safer if they kept up the charade 'til they were back on Serenity. Then he could try to forget that this whole rutting day ever happened...

He tugged at Book's sleeve. "I don't think we ought to keep the sheriff waiting, Shepherd," he suggested humbly.

"No, of course not." Book turned to Devlin and shook his hand warmly. "Thank you for your hospitality, _lao pengyou_ , and I am truly sorry for any inconvenience our presence may have caused you on this difficult day."

"Don't let it trouble you," Devlin insisted. And wait--you mustn't forget the package." 

"Oh, yes--in all the excitement it slipped my mind."

The pastor hurried into the house, leaving Book to offer an apologetic smile to the sheriff. Mal could feel his leg starting to stiffen up, and tried shifting his weight without being too obvious. He wondered if he could manage the walk back to the port without giving anything away--it was going to be a trial.

The sheriff caught his restlessness, but fortunately mistook it for something else. "Worried about being back in the sky, Brother?"

Mal gave him a weak smile. "I suppose I'll get used to it eventually."

"But in the meantime, he'll offer his suffering up to the Lord," Book said. "Isn't that right, Brother Joshua?"

"Yes, Shepherd," he replied through clenched teeth.

Devlin returned carrying a large flat box bound up with twine. "My compliments to the Abbot," he said, offering it to Mal. "I hope he likes the color. The ladies of the parish worked very hard on getting the stitching just right."

The sheriff cast a curious look at the box.

"New vestments for the Abbey," Book said succinctly.

"Right. If you're ready then, gentlemen." Owens strode off through the gate.

Mal took the package gratefully, pleased to reclaim what was his and Zoe's. He held it carefully under one arm, watching his balance, and shook Devlin's hand with all the strength he could muster. "Thanks, Pastor," he said simply.

Devlin wrapped both hands firmly around his, and for a second, Mal had the peculiar, unsettling notion that he was being blessed. "My pleasure, son," Devlin assured him. "You and your crew will always have a place of refuge here," he added quietly, as he let go.

Mal nodded and turned away quick, feeling his throat tighten up. He walked as steadily as he could, with Book by his side wearing a sad smile. As they passed through the gate to where the sheriff and his men were waiting, they heard Devlin call out a heartfelt, "Godspeed."

******


	4. Goodness and Mercy Shall Follow You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go home...

******

The journey back to the port wasn't the long painful walk Mal had anticipated. Not only did they have an escort, they went in style seated in an open patrol wagon driven by Constable Harris. The sheriff sent along another deputy to ride shotgun.

All seemed relatively peaceful as they drove through town. There were still lawmen on patrol in small groups, and not too many regular folks about. If there had been any major disturbances or civil unrest, they didn't see any evidence of it. Of course, they still didn't have any real idea of what had gone on after the attack on the rally.

The only thing Mal truly cared about was getting back to Serenity, and out of his disguise. His longing to be off this world and back in the sky was so strong that it was making his head ache again. He sat in broody silence, only half-listening as Book talked with the deputy, skillfully pumping him for information on the day's events.

It turned out that the plot had been engineered by Magistrate Langston's nephew, who was a commissioner in the next province. His plan, it seemed, had been to make it look as if the magistrate himself had been after his son, and cause a breach in the family and and the political factions.

"Wanted to move in and take over here himself," the deputy opined. "Only place he'll be moving now is a prison cell, alongside his hired goons."

Huh, thought Mal. Let 'em rot there. If only they had landed on a different day, or if their contact had chosen another place for the meet--timing was everything, and why was his always so lousy?

Dusk was settling in when they arrived at the port. Harris carefully maneuvered the transport through the roadways, following Book's directions. "This will be just fine, Constable," he said, urging a halt. "Our ship's just over there."

Serenity was still some distance away, the open cargo ramp a welcome and inviting sight. Mal climbed down from the transport with a barely suppressed groan, weary and aching all over. He stood still and let Book do the talking, thanking their escort and urging them to hurry on their errand to fetch Mrs. Mallory.

"We'll get her back safe," Harris promised. "Nice to see folks like that who have such respect for men of the cloth," he added, nodding toward the ship where the entire crew could just be seen waiting at the top of the ramp. "You have a good trip now." The lawmen gave a salute and drove off.

Free at last, they started walking toward the ship. "Quite a day," Book said.

Mal shrugged, shifting the weight of the box under his arm. "One I expect you ain't ever gonna let me live down."

"Oh, I imagine there will be reprecussions of all sorts when you least expect them, son. Things like this happen for a reason."

They had reached the bottom of the ramp. Mal stopped and turned to the Shepherd, staring at him hard. "That's right, you just go on being all cryptic and spirtual. But tell me one thing straight--you and the pastor really do go a long ways back, don't you?"

"That we do," Book admitted.

"Lucky for me and Zoe you both happened to be around today, then."

The Shepherd gave him a crooked smile. "Some might call it luck."

Well aware that their shipmates were still watching curiously from above, Mal went on. "And this outfit--the pastor and me ain't exactly the same build. Handy him having it around, all ready to help out a stranger."

Book's eyes narrowed, and he took on that air of deadly seriousness Mal had seen earlier. "Devlin had a young assistant at one time, who went off to the war to serve as a chaplain. He died in a prisoners' camp, tending to the sick."

It was an old, too-familiar story, but Mal felt a disquieting surge of pity and remorse. "Which side was he on?" he had to ask.

"I don't think that really matters," Book replied, shaking his head sadly. He reached out and took the box from Mal's grasp. "I'll bring this topside for you. I imagine you'd like to change, and that Zoe would like her things back."

Mal still felt guilty and unsettled, for no good reason he could think of. "What are you, Preacher?" he called out softly as Book stepped up onto the ramp.

The Shepherd stopped and turned to face him. "I'm a man of God, Captain," he said. "I've always been so, even when I turned my back on Him for a time. But He was always there, waiting for me--He has infinite patience, you know." He continued on into the ship, where everyone gathered around to welcome him back. 

Mal followed slowly, trying to put those words out of his mind.

Zoe broke away from the group to watch his approach. Kaylee gave the preacher one more hug and turned to him with a relieved but puzzled smile. Wash and Jayne were staring at their captain with such similar expressions of stupefaction that it was almost funny. He got a quick, assessing look from Simon, then a firm nod before the doctor turned away to escort a still pale but grinning River back to the infirmary.

And Inara was there too, standing a little apart from the others, but still one of them. She greeted Book warmly as he passed her on his way up, though Mal could see some of her attention was clearly on him.

"Welcome home, Captain," Zoe said, doing her best to look all dutiful and serious as she made shushing gestures behind her back at the others, who seemed ready to pounce on him with questions he was in no mood to answer.

"Yeah--glad to be here," he replied, as he leaned against the edge of the airlock door, trying his best not to look at anyone but her. Especially not Inara, whose expression he couldn't read at all--which was nothing new. 

Zoe ducked her head for a just a second, but Mal didn't miss her tiny grin. "All present and accounted for, sir," she reported.

"Good. And you all got somewhere else to be, if this boat's about to take off," he said, glaring at them as sternly as he could. It didn't seem to be having much effect. He knew they knew how bone-deep pleased he was to see them.

"Oh, yeah," Wash said, his eyes wide. "Else. Somewhere."

Jayne's mouth was still agape. "I do?"

"Yes sir, Cap'n!" Little Kaylee looked ready to bust.

But not a one of them moved until Zoe looked over her shoulder and ordered, " _Mah shong!_ "

They scattered, leaving him under the scrutiny of the two women.

"So," he began, folding his arms as he glanced from one to the other. "You two cooked up a little mutiny while I was gone?"

Inara's lips twitched, but she said nothing.

"It seemed the best course of action, sir," Zoe explained calmly. "Mrs. Mallory filled me in on what the pastor had planned for you. I only got a brief message off to Inara before the comm blackout. She managed the rest."

"Uh-huh." That was easy to assume. "Nothing like having some--respectable strings to pull," he commented, unable to keep a nasty edge out of his voice.

"That's right," Inara agreed, raising her chin defiantly, her eyes flashing.

Zoe took a casual step between them. "We've got clearance to lift off any time we want."

Mal nodded. "So I heard--so we go. Now. Have Wash set a course for--"

"Already got a course, sir. Got us a destination, and cargo to deliver."

"What?" He gaped at her. "How? Did that guy actually make contact somehow?"

Her gaze slid to the Companion for a second. "No, sir. We have another...client."

Inara held a gilt-embroidered pouch out to him. "Unless you'd prefer not to accept the Guild's money," she said, a distinct note of challenge in her words.

He stared at her, relief and resentment fighting inside him. "What's the cargo?" he asked warily.

She returned his look with her usual forbearance. "Books, some artwork, a memory cache. They're being transferred to the House on Boros. The House Priestess authorized full payment in advance." Her voice was steady, but her hand was trembling the tiniest bit. "Will you take the job or not?"

A job was a job, Mal told himself, as a tense silence grew between them. This one shouldn't have too much in the way of complications--he knew he could trust her to that. "We under any kind of deadline?" he finally said.

"That's a 'yes,' " Zoe whispered loudly to Inara, striding past her and accepting the money pouch on her captain's behalf. "I'll tell Wash to heat her up," she called back as she bounded up the stairs. "We'll go on your say-so, sir."

Inara smiled after her, then turned back at Mal. "No, there's no rush," she said.

"Good." He straightened up and took a careful step forward, but his leg had gone stiff again. He couldn't help wincing against the pain.

She moved toward him, her eyes wide with alarm. "Zoe said you'd been hurt--"

"It's fine," he lied, holding up a hand to forestall her proffered aid. She'd already done enough--as much as some part of him might want more, this wasn't the moment. He was still too riled up over everything else that had happened this sorry day. "Shepherd's friends took good care of me," he tried to assure her.

She dropped her own outstretched hand. "I'm sure," she said. "Still, you ought to stop by the infirmary."

"Yeah." He looked at her warily. There was something in her eyes--not so much a sadness, but something that weighed heavily on him. "You had no need to get involved in this."

Her eyes went hard for an instant, and her lips trembled, as if there words she wanted to say, but couldn't. "Didn't I?" she asked. 

"Why?" he pressed, though he thought he already knew the answer. You had to believe in the ones you trusted, same as they believed in you. "The magistrate had more'n enough to deal with--it could've all gone wrong with you asking for favors. Why do you keep on taking risks for--for us?"

"I don't know, Mal," she said with a sigh. "Perhaps for the same reason you always do."

Now her gaze on him was soft and unguarded. Her hand had dropped to the stair rail, and her delicate fingers were wrapped securely around the metal. 

He knew that touch--it was the way he always touched Serenity. If they could ever touch each other that way, just once--if they could learn to trust each other just a little more--

All kinds of words were fighting in his mind, struggling to be said. He chose the easiest, least meaningful ones. "We gotta get off this rock. Ain't really our kind of world."

He heard her sigh again, but there was a hint of smile on her face. "Yes," she nodded, turning away. "I'll tell Simon to expect you." She walked off toward the rear hatch, her firm steps echoing in the empty bay.

It was long past time to be gone. Mal swiped a hand wearily across his forehead, then down to his neck where the collar still chafed with its unwelcomeness. 

He went to hit the controls to raise the ramp and secure the doors. But he raised his head for a moment and looked up to the sky, into the black where the stars were just beginning to shine. 

His fingers worked at the collar, slowly unfastening it as he gazed beyond the stars, deep into something he didn't want to believe in. "Today didn't mean nothing," he whispered to the emptiness above. "So don't be getting no ideas."

He triggered the controls, and as the door began to close, he punched the comm. "Get us out of here, Wash," he ordered, with one last look out at the sky before the hatch shut tight.

Then he turned and walked into Serenity.

************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book's prayer for grace is from Proverbs: 3, 5-6. Mal's prayer is known as The Rune of Saint Patrick. 
> 
> ***
> 
> The main inspiration for this story from the final epsiodes of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and Nathan Fillion's appearance as Caleb. My daughter saw one of the pre-publicity photos and asked, "Why is Mal dressed up like a priest?"
> 
> Ding-ding-ding! I was also thinking of various movies, and an old Star Wars fanfic, where an antihero is forced to go in disguise as a priest.


End file.
